


Twilight Hour

by Daryl_Alenko



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: On a world of infinite knowledge, and access to the whole of space and time, one teenager realizes the potential of a bond…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twilight Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Another transplanted story. One of my favorites, as far as character study goes.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from the Doctor Who universe.

Color. That is all I can register… color in all it’s infinite beauty. Every shade of the broad spectrum, most hues no eye is capable of interpreting. No eye but that of a young Time Lord, at least. Mauves and faded beiges of burnt glory rip through the sky, the approach of twilight hour casting the world into inky shadows and half truths. I absolutely love it… what can be more beautiful than the canvas of heaven’s twinkling brilliance, and the soft whisper of cascading shadows? It makes my hearts skip a beat, the excitement of awaiting that glorious hour… and him. Oh, by the twinkling stars of the illustrious sky, I find myself waiting on him… always waiting…

There is never a set time for which he will appear, and yet, always I come to this place, to watch the approach of twilight hour, and pray that he will find me here. How pathetic is that? Always, I find myself waiting around for him, hearts drumming in decadent beat, breath held till the world swims before me, oceans of blurry oxygen deprivation. And oh, how the colors seem to change, when the breath leaves me in ragged, hopeful gasps. Everything takes on a darkness that calls to some deep, primal version of myself hidden away from the surrounding world… but he sees it in me. He calls to it, coaxing it forth with pretty words and feral kisses… the way his lips burn upon pristine flesh never touched before… and how I burn for him. My best friend, my world.

He is the very beating of my hearts, on the days I allow myself to accept this simple truth. Upon others, when some failed class at this dreary academy has left me punctured and hurt, he is the vexation that lets me vent every sorrow and fear… he is savage kisses and bruising caresses. I can escape reality in the brutal truth of his arms… can spill buckets of useless salt in wavering cries of misunderstanding… because I think I am fooling myself. I think he knows that I have grown far too attached to a childhood comfort.

In the back of my mind is a fear that burns brighter than the heart of a sun. I fear that he is simply using me… playing upon a childhood affection when he is in dire need of uncontrolled passion. When he needs nothing more than to burn infinitely hot and bright, he comes to me. And maybe that is all I am… the fuel for some arcane fire that dances deep within his tarnished soul. Or, perhaps, I am an anchor. The driving force that keeps him innocent and pure. What would my precious friend become, could he not visit his darkness upon me when two bodies meet in such opulent abandon?

Even now I can feel it, a wayward strand of destiny that tells me just how wrong this will all become… that chokes me with logic and fate, and all of those little words that scholars use when they try to sugar coat a harsh truth. What could be harsher than the truth my hearts tell me linger just over the horizon? Will this be the last twilight hour I spend upon this enchanting bridge? Will I be left with nothing more than the memory of kisses that taste of anger and love, cries in the dark that mark little deaths of passion’s throes?

Little death… how appropriate of an act that delivers you to the very gates of some proverbial heaven… only to bring you crashing back to the cruelty of reality. How could people believe in some divine entity that would allow them such pleasures… but only with such excruciating pain? Ugh, how my thoughts ramble when I find myself waiting for him. Already the headache has begun… the terrible pain as my mind plays some inner symphony that consists of nothing more than a single, driving beat. My soundtrack, that is what my silly little fool calls it. But if this is my soundtrack, I am already doomed.

What music plays endlessly in his own mind? He doesn’t think I’ve noticed, but I have. The way his head bobs endlessly when he thinks I have fallen asleep… the way he seems to tilt his head so adorably askew, as if listening to something in the distance… awaiting the approach of something that only he can hear. So much like myself, is he.

Is that why I treasure these little moments? Could I possibly be so narcissistic, as to have fallen for a version of myself? Or maybe… ah yes, maybe he is that fabled split apart… a soul mate that completes me in every possible way. More likely, I am deluding myself with pretty little speeches that make us seem so much more than we actually are. We are brutal comfort on a world that will never accept us, because we are both far too curious… far too compassionate for the dusty old Senators of our race. Never will we be able to uphold that most magnanimous law of no interference. And how could we be expected to? When the universe is so vast, and we are in possession of such a well spring of knowledge, how can we not apply said knowledge in the hopes of helping lesser races?

Listen to me… I am beginning to sound like my sweet little do-gooder. His hearts beat with the hope of saving the worlds of every universe, in every dimension. And that is the reason that he will seek me out… desperate for the comfort of my kiss, the promise of a caress that will never fail him. Because my best friend has taken on the task of saving something far larger than he can ever be. And he will fail…this simple truth has always been obvious to me, and yet, I cannot tell him so. Because then, he would take those colors from me…

I could paint him, you know… apply some form of lucid coloring to canvas, to capture every little nuance of emotion that no one but me gets to see! How do I describe a body of such utter perfection, he seems more a walking tapestry, than a living, breathing being? Skin as pristine as the first snows of the deathly months… lips that not only whisper intricate secrets, but part in ecstatic screams. Like lush velvet, they caress the secrets of my soul, bringing forth cries of passion and pain. Hands so strong I fear their strength… and yet crave their supple dance across flesh that begs to be touched by him and only him.

Oh, but the most wonderful feature on my love, are his eyes. For they are almost hypnotic… capturing my soul in colors as dark and warm as melted chocolate on the coldest of days. He seems to look right through me, laying bare the truths of my soul without permission. But, it is a violation I welcome, because I am too cowardly to tell him the things that pulse through me. Like the beat… never have I told him of that insistent beat that makes demands I cannot fulfill. If he can see so deeply into the inner folds of my heart, can drink at the fountain of my secrets, why does he do nothing? Why is he standing still, allowing my self destruction to continue? Why does he not save me from the crushing pain of infinite color and endless, echoing sound?

Alas, the sky has fallen into decrepit shades of black and white… stars winking brilliant pale white across a canvas of onyx nothingness. So lost in the twisted corridors of my mind, I have allowed this most precious hour to dwindle beyond my grasp. No longer does the torturous mosaic of colors blind my eyes to all the imperfections of my existence. I am once more visited by the harsh reality of who and what I am… once more I am filled with the never ending beating of the drums. It fills me with echoing crescendos that make demands I cannot fulfill. And where is my beloved Theta, to save me from this cruel fate? Once more he is late… one more I am left upon this bridge, cold and without comfort… alone. Color. That is all I can register… color in all it’s bitter infinity… dead hues of endless black…


End file.
